The warehouse had been transformed. Crates stacked like fortresses, maps pinned across walls, faint markings tracing alleys, rooftops, and hidden pathways through the city. Hollow Strings pulsed faintly in the air, almost as if sensing the new rhythm Rayon had created.
He stood atop a crate, dark hair falling into hollow black eyes, surveying his followers as they moved with purpose and precision.
Rayon had spent weeks molding the Forsaken Web, the name he chose for his growing circle.
Thalric "Snap" Voren – Chief of infiltration and traps, coordinating stealth missions. Kira Nyx – Assassin and scout, reporting intelligence, teaching minor stealth and evasion. Dren Lokar – Enforcer, head of combat operations, training recruits in hand-to-hand and weapon strikes. Lysa Corven – Strategist, advisor, analyzing targets, planning operations, calculating risk. Jaro Fen – Assassin-in-training and shadow operative, sent on dangerous solo recon.
Rayon established a hierarchy: he was the center of every string, every move coordinated from him. Orders came in threads, subtle nudges of instinct, perception, and emotion, interpreted by the members as guidance, not control.
He introduced a mission system:
Steal, sabotage, or gather information. Complete tasks perfectly—or fail and lose their reward. Rewards ranged from coin, weapons, and food, to secrets or influence within the city. Each task designed to expand their skill sets, sharpen instincts, and test loyalty.
By the end of the month, his followers were stronger, faster, smarter. Even the slums began to whisper: the Forsaken Web had grown beyond a single boy. They were a force.
Rayon spent hours alone, stretching threads, practicing illusions, refining perfect hypnosis.
He could now manipulate multiple people's six senses simultaneously. Altered perception evolved into complete sensory domination: sight, hearing, touch, taste, smell, intuition—all subject to his will. He practiced combat sequences with Dren and Jaro, creating intricate choreography: Dren would swing, Jaro would dodge midair, and Rayon would redirect attacks subtly, leaving the sequence lethal yet perfectly precise.
Every punch, every block, every feint was a lesson. Every tug at the strings taught him the elasticity of fear, desire, and instinct.
That night, Rayon climbed the rooftop above the warehouse, staring at the city sprawled below. Hollow eyes traced threads connecting nobles, merchants, gangs, and guards. The web was vast. Endless.
And yet… it wasn't enough.
What was my real goal? he thought. The palace was too strong. The slums too small. Fear is a tool, not an empire. Control is satisfying, but it isn't everything.
The past whispered: the nobles who starved his people, the merchants who bled them dry, the palace that ignored the suffering of children in the gutters.
No. I won't just take the palace. I'll take everything connected to it. Influence, fear, and power. I'll bend the city, the nobles, even the kingdom, without them realizing it. One string at a time.
He clenched his fists. Hollow strings hummed in the air, tugging faintly in response.
The world is a web. And I will be its Weaver.
The Forsaken Web Moves Forward
Rayon returned inside. The warehouse buzzed with life. Missions were being planned, recruits training under Thalric and Dren, intelligence being analyzed by Lysa. Kira whispered updates from the shadows. Jaro ran errands, disappeared into the night.
All threads connected. Every member was a living extension of Rayon's vision.
He allowed himself a thin smile. They were strong, loyal, and capable—but still expendable. Still learning.
The Forsaken Web was more than an organization. It was a machine. And he was the center.
Tomorrow, they would test their power again. Raids, sabotage, manipulation—it didn't matter. Every action was a step toward the true goal, whatever that would ultimately be.
And Rayon would decide it.